


Chase the Shadows Away

by myeung



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fregolas, Gen, M/M, Mamma Mia! AU, Thilbo, bagginshield, featuring Richard Armitage's gorgeous designer stubble, idk what the ship name is, yay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-27
Updated: 2014-04-01
Packaged: 2018-01-17 05:33:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1375705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myeung/pseuds/myeung
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Literally, the Mamma Mia! AU you never wanted! (But the bunnies. They plot.)</p><p>"Frieda Dorothy Baggins--more commonly known as Frodo on the Greek island which she and her mother, Bilbo, called home--snuck down the stone steps to the post office by herself just before sunset. She supposed she shouldn't be so afraid of getting into trouble. She was 20, a full-grown woman in most respects. She could wander around that island alone if she liked. She knew everyone, practically from the day she was born!</p><p>But how she was actually brought into this world was an entirely different story, and one, with the help of these three extra wedding invitations, she'd hoped to soon find out."</p><p>Rated for language. Rating will change later because smut hrhr</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I decided it would be fun to have a Mamma Mia! AU. I am yours for the stoning.
> 
> For clarification: "Clarion" is the root (or something, idk) of the word "clarinet". And Bofur plays the flute/clarinet. So, yay, justification.

Frieda Dorothy Baggins--more commonly known as Frodo on the Greek island which she and her mother, Bilbo, called home--snuck down the stone steps to the post office by herself just before sunset. She took a deep breath before officially mailing her letters and tucking a lock of her dark, curly hair back.

She supposed she shouldn't be so afraid of getting into trouble. She was 20, nearly 21, a full-grown woman in most respects, and it was her wedding after all. She could invite who she wanted, and wander around that island alone if she liked. She knew everyone, practically from the day she was born!

But how she was actually brought into this world was an entirely different story, and one, with the help of these three extra wedding invitations, she'd hoped to soon find out.

(Yeah, she was probably going to get in trouble. But more with Legolas than with her mum, and she could handle Legolas.)

~

Thorin Oakenshield awoke to the sounds of his favorite Sting album (like a true Englishman, or so he'd tell himself) and the light of a just-rising sun streaming in through the window. He gave a reluctant stretch to greet the day and reached over to give his black Labrador, Erebor, a good morning scratch, which was accepted enthusiastically, thank you very much. Ever the workaholic, he took his sketchpad and pencil from the night stand and gave last night's building idea another once-over, before adding a note on the side (two stories, not three, and plenty of garden space) and setting it down to go to the bathroom.

After going through his morning routine--save for shaving, he thought he could skip that today--he padded down to the kitchen to fix himself some breakfast. He found a note from his housekeeper, Mrs Hudson, attached by a magnet to the fridge door.

_"That's the fourth time this month I've caught you making coq au vin, and unless wine does actually flow through your veins I'm going to have to stop you. There's chicken cacciatore around the belly-button-level shelf as a substitute. It's the Nigella recipe and I know you're secretly in love with her so now you have no choice."_

Thorin gave a hearty laugh at this, and felt a surge of warmth go through him as he opened the fridge to find that, indeed, there was a tub of chicken cacciatore ready for him to heat up. Sweet woman. He was fortunate that she was brave enough to have befriended a grump like him. Upon sticking a bowl of the stuff into the microwave he returned to the note, and froze.

_"P.S. Who is Bilbo?"_

He blinked twice and made a dash for the pile of obviously-gone-through mail on the black marble counter. He really needed to work on his observational skills.

~

Though a majority of Paris was already bustling about, W.F. Clarion yawned as he finished his final draft of an article about the city. As he clicked "Save", he gave a sigh of relief and got up to replenish his mug of coffee. Travel-writing was not the easiest job in the world, though most would try and make it out to be. Especially about a place like Paris. He wanted to revive it from its center-of-cosmopolitan status and write about it from a different angle, in a noble attempt to reduce the cases of Paris Syndrome that tourist jams always seemed to catch.

Well, that was a rather far-fetched idea, considering he was writing about the (bloody, bloody) French, but he liked to see the good in people as much as he could.

He knew he was in dire need of sleep the moment his mail came in through the little flap in the door and he jumped, burning some of his left hand with the coffee, nearly smashing the mug. Muttering curses under his breath, he ran the injured hand under cold running water while awkwardly trying to open the freezer door with his right foot. It was just out of reach.

He gave a whistle of frustration before stepping back a little and trying again, never removing his hand from under the faucet. There. He managed to open it just enough to be able to reach for the little ice pack sticking out from the door-shelf with his toes (he was getting good at this) and kicking the freezer shut again.

But then he made the mistake of stepping with his left foot-- _buffoon buffoon buffoon!_ he scolded himself--and slipped on that very same ice pack.

It was a miracle of physics, and he was almost sorry no one was around to see it. The ice pack slid under the arch of his foot perfectly, glided him over to the door of his Paris flat, where he was smashed face-first and stumbled back, freed of the villainous thing as it slid away. That was when he saw it. The letter. Addressed to Bofur Clarion.

Wilhelm Frederick had not been called "Bofur", not even by his brother, since 1991. When he was with her.

~

"Last call."

The bartender had said that about ten times now. He would have been stricter except this poor drunken mass of black curls at the end of the bar looked particularly pitiful. He had actually seen this coming for a while now, but Bard had insisted on making a two-month scene of it.

Dori had known about Mrs Bowman's intentions of leaving her husband, and had his suspicions as to why, but like a good, if slightly distant friend, he never gave unsolicited advice. And he had known that it was Bard who would have to move out. This was the part of the job in this part of New York that he sort of resented--knowing everything about everybody within a half-mile radius, and not being able to help when the situation called for it. Otherwise he'd just be the nosy old bartender. He sighed.

"BARD!"

A squeak and a loud thud followed, with a hiccup not two seconds after. "Wha."

"Up you get, come on."

"Nuh."

"Bard."

"Wha."

"Get up."

"...nuh."

Fucking bastard.

"She left you your mail from this morning." Dori checked his watch. "Well, yesterday morning."

"Nnngggghhhh."

"I'm going through it for you if you don't get up."

"Guuuhhhh I dunkerrrrr."

After a while, a very drunk Bard heard a very familiar voice say, "Who's Bilbo?"

There was another loud thud as Bard scrambled to get up and hit his head under the bar. You'd have thought he'd have seen it, but there you go.

Dori shook his head and pulled himself a pint. It was going to be a long night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emotions~
> 
> Also, in which Bard is kind of an idiot and Dori makes a funny.

"You did what now?"

Frodo hadn't been expecting this. Sam was relatively calm when she told her about the invitations, and it was more than a little unnerving. Calm Sam was always unnerving. But Merry and Pippin had looked at each other for two seconds and began ransacking Frodo's room almost immediately.

"Oi!" exclaimed Frodo. "What do you think you're--"

"Found it, Pip!" shrieked Merry from under a pile of clothes Pippin had unceremoniously, bit by bit, dumped on her in her haste. Sticking out from one side of the pile was Merry's hand, clutching an old diary, which Pippin snatched without hesitation and began flipping through.

"How did you..."

"It's not like we don't know your 'organized clutter', honey. We've been over so often since kindergarten, we know when something's new in here," said Merry, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Frodo huffed but offered no other response. That was logical, if slightly creepy. Pippin's golden locks fell around her face as she flipped furiously through the diary, muttering to herself. Sam was still sitting on the edge of the bed, kind of not really taking in what was happening. Pippin gave a hiss, making Merry rush over and grab one end of the book. They peered at it intently for a moment, screeched in obvious delight, and ran outside like madwomen. Which, all things considered, was not a difficult analogy to imagine.

Sam sighed. "I suppose we should follow them."

"Are you mad?"

"No. I'm just... steeling myself for the worst. Like Bilbo throwing a fit."

"How do you know Mum's going to--"

"I've practically lived here for 15 years, give me some credit."

Apparently no one was going to let Frodo finish her sentences today.

~

"The name sounds familiar, actually."

"Wha."

"For Mahal's sake, Bard, use your words."

"Can't. Ngh. Hung over."

"And whose fault is that?"

"Yours, you dandy, for not turning me out after the second drink."

Dori was about to react to the dandy comment, and say that if anyone was a dandy it was Bard, but again, that was something Bard would have to figure out by himself. He had dragged Bard up to his flat above the pub and dumped him on the couch for the night, declaring his good deeds done for at least a month. So he shrugged off the comment.

"The letter's from Greece. From a Bilbo Baggins."

"Yeah."

"You know I grew up there? With my baby sisters."

"Oh?"

"They had a playmate named Bilbo, I think. Or Bella. Or Beyoncé. Something with a B."

"Bilbo... 's an ex."

"Pretty, huh?"

"Yeah, how'd you know?"

"You fell all over yourself last night."

"Ngh."

"There's a wedding invitation." Dori waved it at the lumpy figure on his couch.

"She..."

"Not her. A Frodo. Her kid."

"Her... wha."

~

Belladonna "Bilbo" Baggins was a woman on a mission.

She had, thus far, started and maintained a decent hotel business, raised a beautiful little girl into womanhood, and managed to make a name for herself and for the island on which she lived. She had a reputation for selflessness and kindness, and valued hard work as much as she valued play. And she made fabulous, fabulous food.

She also had fabulous, fabulous friends, and she was determined to have them at her baby's wedding. And so she drove to the dock. And indeed, there they were.

It was ridiculous to think, knowing that it had been over a decade since they had all gotten together properly, and to be honest they had all aged a bit, but to see them chattering away with each other there on the dock made Bilbo feel like no time had ever passed at all. They looked the same.

It had been a good 22 years since they last did a show together, and 21 since they rushed to Bilbo's side as she went into labor with Frodo; 20 since they started taking turns playing nanny to the tiny child, and eventually her little playmates. Their support, along with her parents'--Yavanna bless their souls--had been amazing. And she was glad to have repaid them in being a kind of temporary replacement for their brother when he moved to New York.

Norah and Ophelia--who insisted on being called Nori and Ori, because of their brother--squealed as Bilbo pulled over and waved. Without any hesitation at all they threw their luggage in the car and drove back to the Bag End Bed and Breakfast, still yapping away as old friends are wont to do.

"Your letter almost didn't make it to me, you know, I was glad for the email," said Ori.

"Oh?" wondered Bilbo.

"I haven't been Mrs Heston-Smith for four years, darling!"

"Oh gods, I'm so sorry!"

"What're you sorry for? She was glad to get out," huffed Nori.

"What about the bloke before him?" Bilbo pressed, as was her right.

"That was a Vegas thing, darling, doesn't count."

"Wasn't he Hispanic--"

"And so dreamy--"

"It lasted a good year, you can't possibly say that didn't count!"

"Enough about me, sis, what about you, Bilbo?"

Bilbo sighed. "Overwhelmed."

That was good enough for them. This getaway was about Frodo, and Bilbo too, and seeing to it that the wedding was lovely and that their friend would face as much joy and as little heartache as possible. Legolas Greenleaf, they knew, was the nicest guy on the island, rather handsome, and had been besotted with Frodo since the first grade. In fact, he had been the one to send the email invitations in the first place, knowing how hopeless Bilbo was with computers. Frodo was lucky, as was he.

Bilbo had not been so fortunate with her relationships, and she hadn't really dated after Frodo was born. When Legolas had come round asking if he could formally court Frodo, Bilbo had asked for a day to consider, and burst into tears--Nori remembered the splotches from the letter. She'd been so worried that she had not taught her daughter enough about guarding her heart, that she had never let her baby in on those things that really mattered, that she had been found wanting as a parent, that the lack of a father figure (though Gandalf, the vicar, was a very good influence, as was her own Da) had been detrimental... 

But it was Nori, Ori, and Legolas himself who had assured her that she had not been a failure. And since then she'd had no tears to fight back, and even a little breathing space for the first time in forever. Thranduil, Legolas' father, had been a wonder with the wedding preparations. But that time she had to herself left her thinking about what could have been, if there had been a man in her life, if any one of the men she had been with had stayed.

Unbeknownst to her, she was about to find out.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THINGS COME TOGETHER
> 
> I apologize if this is too short. It gets better I promise. When I've got less to do.
> 
> And a nod to The King's Speech, which I loved.

_"...Thorin and I went out to the dock. He kissed me and told me he loves me and never wants to leave this island, ever. I didn't know what else to do, nothing felt more right than to invite him up to my room, where we..."_

"Where we?!" screeched Sam, losing her calm facade at last.

"Dot dot dot!" cried Merry and Pippin.

They all looked at Frodo expectantly. She huffed for what felt like the hundredth time that day and said, "He left about four days later. Or that's what I've been able to gather. Because if you look--"

But Pippin had beaten her to punch, not even bothering to read the other entries out loud. "There are only two others that end with 'dot dot dot'. The timing fits..."

"So you only extra-invited those three," said Sam solemnly. Frodo nodded, obviously trying to contain her enthusiasm. "But I thought it didn't matter to you?"

"It doesn't!"

Silence. And raised eyebrows.

"Okay. It didn't. But I realized there was no one to give me away at my wedding..."

"That's Bilbo's job, isn't it? I mean, I always assumed..." began Merry.

"You'd think so, but. I don't know. I don't want to put more pressure on Mum than I already am."

"Wouldn't this just hurt her? She might feel like you're saying she wasn't enough as a parent," Sam volunteered.

"...I didn't think of it that way."

~

"BUGGER BUGGER FUCK FUCK SHIT. **BUGGER**."

A roaring foghorn's cry grew fainter and fainter as Bard watched the ferry sail. Without him. Beside him came an echo of his curses. He turned to see a man about his height, if a little taller. If he didn't know any better, he'd say this was one of the Royal family. But he was far more good-looking than William. _Why am I thinking this?!_

Instead of voicing his thoughts, he muttered, "You can say that again."

The dark-haired man did. Bard snorted and extended a hand.

"Bowman. Bard Bowman. London. But originally Wales."

"Thorin Oakenshield, at your service. Except I seem to be equally helpless."

"You're... You're the architect!"

"Er. Yes."

"No, no, sorry. Sorry. I'm a banker in a building you designed."

"Ah. Dale Finance. Right?"

"Yeah!"

"Now I know where I've seen you. You were at the groundbreaking!"

"I was, indeed. Ah... Not that I'm not enjoying this, but... It seems we're going the same way, and both without a ride."

"And no accommodations, at least for me. I booked my flight last minute for a wedding."

"A wedding... In two days?" Bard's eyebrows shot up.

"Why, ye--"

"OI!"

They both leapt at the sound of an Irish accent, which came from a fairly impressive yacht. Or it would have been, if it didn't look like it had been put through its paces very, very recently.

"You lads need a lift to the island?"  
~

There was squealing.

So.

Much.

Squealing.

"Frodo, darling, look how much you've grown!"

"Sam, dear. Look at you."

"Mary Anne--"

"It's Merry--"

"Of course, of course, and dear Penny--"

"Pippin--"

"Where is the groom?" inquired Ori.

"Off doing groom things. I think," laughed Frodo.

"Ah, youth," sighed Bilbo.

"She would know..." whispered Merry.

"Hm?"

"Nothing!" she cried, before grabbing Pippin and Sam by the hand and running off.

Frodo rolled her eyes and decided to go look for Legolas before heading to the dock.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff and feels and crack. Have some French-y Bombur as a bonus!

_And now I know what they mean_  
 _He's a love machine_  
 _Oh, he makes me dizzy_

Frodo and Legolas sat together on the dock, watching the boats go by. Far to their left was a magnificent rock formation where the waves crashed, and on which, when she was smaller and much harder to catch sneaking around, Frodo would pretend she was Pocahontas. It was her favorite Disney film, loving the idea of running with the wind and being able to talk to animals--even the thought of coming home to a tutting parent, knowing said parent only tuts and fusses out of love.

But that was the thing: Pocahontas had a father _and_ a prince. Of sorts. Frodo--oh, well, she loved Bilbo, ever so much, and wouldn't trade her for anything in the universe, not even the chance to be a real life Pocahontas. But she did often wonder if her mother was lonely. Which was another matter altogether. Frodo had Legolas, and would always have him. But her mother only had her, and _she_ was getting married.

"It isn't fair," she muttered to Legolas, poking at his right pinky finger, a funny habit of hers. Legolas had lovely hands. She had discussed her plan with her fiancé before sending the letters; they kept no secrets from one another. They had known each other nearly all their lives, and had no reason to. "Mum's done all this pretty much by herself. Gammy and Pop helped, I know"--she interjected when Legolas opened his mouth to protest--"and they were the best! But. Mum. I want her to be happy." At this Legolas sighed.

"Baby," he began, watching the waves as though they would give him the right words. "Baby, I know. Or not really. I mean, Mother still writes and stuff. She never really left. But then it felt strange, knowing your parents are 'just friends'. I've never hated Father, or either of them for that."

"Is she coming to the wedding?"

"I think so, but she's got her girlfriend."

"You know I don't mind. The budget will hold."

"You're the best. Anyway, pumpkin"--Frodo gave a tiny squee--"what I want to say is, it's natural for you to want to know. And I'm glad you're looking out for Bilbo. But like I said before, I don't think this is the best way to go about it. She's probably moved on by now. And she might think you're telling us--me and her--that we're not enough of a family for you."

"That's not it--"

"I know, baby. But you have to admit that's what it looks like."

Frodo huffed and pretended to suddenly find her toes fascinating as she swung her feet under the dock. Her fiancé took her hand in his and kissed it. "I'm still behind you, one hundred percent."

She looked back at him with an impish twinkle in her eye. "I know. You like it there."

"Miss Baggins, how dare you!" Legolas exclaimed, playing at clutching his pearls, his snickers ruining the effect. (If he had them. If not, he could borrow a set from his Da.)

~

 _Money, money, money_  
Always sunny  
In a rich man's world

Fuss, fuss, fuss, fuss, fuss. That is what Nori would have said if asked to describe Bilbo in five words. One leaky faucet and she'd set about in what closely resembled panic. Because Bilbo insisted that it was most certainly not panic.

"With the wedding coming up... Oh, Valar, I don't have the time or coins for this!"

"I'll lend you my credit card, if it's urgent--"

"Ori, I couldn't. No."

"What's the point of being a rich-ass divorcée then?! We want to help, honey. Any other things that need repair?"

"But I already owe you so much--"

"Darling, you're letting us stay here for free. You've trusted us with your little girl."

"You're done playing big sister to us. Can we take care of you for a change?" said Nori, solemnly.

"I don't want to mooch."

"It's called 'accepting a gift'," the confirmed bachelorette insisted. "Screw you if you can't take a cheque!"

They shared a laugh. Bilbo conceded that, maybe, it wasn't the financially blessed who got the perpetual sunshine. Her thoughts were interrupted when her assistant cook roared with delight, some thirty paces outside.

"C'est magnifique!" cried Bombur in his crap French accent. He thundered in over to Bilbo. "Madam, if your daughter doesn't stuff herself to bursting with this at her wedding, I consider myself a failure," he announced, shoving a forkful of smoked salmon into her (miraculously at the ready, like a young'un on a high chair) mouth.

~

"I can see the island!" cried Bard.

"Sit down, you dandy, or you'll get thrown overboard."

That had been his nickname since he shrieked upon first stepping on deck. There was no heat in the command from Bofur, but he shrunk back just the same.

"You know," Bofur began again, lighting his pipe, which he knew was stupid but, eh. "You know, you two, I don't think I asked how you know Bilbo. Seeing as we're all goin' to this weddin' an' all."

"She's an ex," the other two chorused. They all shared panicked looks.

"WHAT?!" This time Bofur joined in.

"I'm sorry I asked," he groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. He had known this was going to be a long ride.

"We won't speak of this," thundered Thorin authoritatively. "She's not the type to be vindictive. And after all, it's her daughter's wedding."

"About that..." muttered Bard. "Her daughter Frodo. Her last name is still Baggins."

Thorin stared out into the clear horizon, the afternoon sun surprisingly pleasant on his face. "She never married then." Silence followed.

They could only hope (against hope) this didn't turn into a kind of pissing contest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this!


End file.
